


Day 6: Without Love There is No Meaning

by GemmaRose



Series: Ratchet Week [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Masks, Scars, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Wheeljack doesn't care what anyone thinks about his appearance. That he's been keeping his mask closed so tightly since returning can only indicate something truly horrific beneath.
Relationships: Ratchet/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Series: Ratchet Week [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758271
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Day 6: Without Love There is No Meaning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NinjaKirkki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaKirkki/gifts).



Wheeljack hadn’t removed his mask since returning from his post on the western front, and Ratchet was growing worried. Well, _more_ worried. He hadn’t been able to shake his concern since the moment he saw the update to Wheeljack’s medical files, the note that offhandedly listed his latest injury as a result of _combat_ instead of creativity. Wheeljack was no slouch in the mandatory defense training every non-frontline autobot was required to undergo, but Ratchet knew that he hated live combat. And that wasn’t even taking into account how _bad_ the scar must be, for the ever-unconcerned scientist to actually care enough to hide it. But surely he’d let it down in private, right? Ratchet had seen him missing whole limbs, a little dermal scarring was nothing.

“I brought you fuel.” he said as he entered Wheeljack’s lab, checking his partner’s current project from a safe distance. It didn't seem to be anything particularly dangerous (yet) so he approached and set the cube in easy reach of Wheeljack, leaning against the workbench with his own ration.

“Oh, thanks.” Wheeljack didn’t even look up, his audials flashing duller than usual, tinged green at the base where the yellow of low fuel was starting to seep in.

“We’ve hardly spent time together, since you got back.” he said, modulating his field to keep the hurt and worry out. He let the longing peek through though, that was a normal thing to be feeling when your partner all but actively avoided you for a deca-cycle.

“Prime’s got me working on this new project.” Wheeljack shrugged, not looking at him. Ratchet swallowed the sting at being so blatantly ignored, partitioned it off with the rest of his hurt and worry. Obviously, subtlety wouldn’t work here.

“Alright, how bad is it?” he asked plainly, setting his cube down on the workbench. “You’re refusing to unmask even when it’s just the two of us, so it must be worse than the medic made it sound.”

“Remedy did a good enough job.” Wheeljack said, a clear deflection. “Just, derma doesn’t heal up pretty without some real special treatments.”

“And?” Ratchet frowned. Neither of them was much of a looker, he’d swapped out of his party-pretty frame after graduation, and every upgrade since had been more focused on functionality than aesthetics. Wheeljack was a racer sure, but battle-grade armour made him boxy and he was rarely even clean, let alone polished. “I didn’t pick you for your looks.”

“Harsh.” Wheeljack chuckled, but it was strained, his hands still on the project before him. Ratchet sidled close enough to reach out and gently cup the far side of his mask, turning Wheeljack’s helm to face him. His optics were dull, and this close Ratchet could feel the low-level fear under his stress and exhaustion.

“I’m worried, Jackie.” he said, tagging the nickname with more than the usual affectionate subglyphs. Wheeljack’s shoulders slumped, and Ratchet very deliberately kept the surge of satisfaction out of his field. Wheeljack was so very, very week to Ratchet using the shortened version of his designation. “You’re not fuelling, barely recharging-”

“You’re one to talk, Sunshine.” Wheeljack huffed, leaning into Ratchet’s touch.

“Hey, you’re being worse than me, I get to be judgemental.” he scolded gently.

“I was trying not to worry you.” Wheeljack admitted, one hand coming up to cover Ratchet’s. “It’s- I’ve never had a battle scar before.”

“Let me see it?” Ratchet asked, brushing his thumb over Wheeljack’s mask. It parted, and air hissed out of him as all his vents tried to expel air while clamping down defensively. It really wasn’t a pretty scar, deep gouges scattered around the left side of his mouth, still barely healed despite the time which had passed since the initial treatment.

“They’re tender.” Wheeljack mumbled, and Ratchet nodded absently, applying only the barest pressure as he brushed his thumb over each one in turn, sensors feeding him data on the depth, heat, everything he needed to determine that Wheeljack was both being absolutely truthful about their sensitivity and _definitely_ not following his prescribed post-op care.

“If you’d been drinking your medgrade, I could kiss these better.”

“It tastes gross.” Wheeljack huffed, and Ratchet shook his head with a soft chuckle, cupping the side of Wheeljack’s helm. He leaned in, and Wheeljack obligingly turned to slot their frames together better as Ratchet pressed a kiss to the uninjured side of his mouth. Wheeljack’s engine slowed, dropping into the steady, calm purr Ratchet was familiar with as his arms came up to rest around Ratchet’s waist. Without any of their usual time constraints, Ratchet was content to let himself linger, savoring the brush of Wheeljack’s dry lips against his own, the ease with which their fields slotted together, relief and affection mingling from both sides as Ratchet traced his other hand up Wheeljack’s side to rest on his shoulder wheel.

Wheeljack relaxed by increments in his arms, shifting slightly to let Ratchet pull him closer still, push him back against the workbench. It would be easy to trail his lips over to Wheeljack’s delightfully sensitive audial fin, grope the soft, textured rubber under his hand, grab Wheeljack by the hips and remind him that a medic’s strength didn’t wane with age. Ratchet filed those options away for later, perhaps tonight once they were in their own berthroom. Wheeljack pulled away only just enough to smile, small and slightly lopsided as he tried not to pull at his wounds. It was unbearably charming, and Ratchet quickly took an image capture, saving it to the folder where he kept all his candid shots of his partner.

“I missed you.” Wheeljack admitted, his arms still tight around Ratchet’s waist, keeping him close. As if Ratchet would pull away when he’d barely been able to touch Wheeljack since his return, let alone hold him. “No lab’s complete without a bit of sunshine.”

“I missed you too.” Ratchet resisted the urge to roll his optics at the corny joke. Wheeljack loved them, and he still wasn’t sure if it was because they were genuinely part of his partner’s sense of humour or if Wheeljack did it specifically to get a rise out of him. Either was possible, really.

“How long do we have before your next shift?” Wheeljack asked, one of his hands drifting down slightly to flirt with a hip seam.

“Not long enough for everything I want to do with you.” Ratchet sighed, leaning in again to nuzzle Wheeljack’s cheek, taking in the sorely-missed scent of Wheeljack fresh from his lab, flat ozone and soot and a chemical sort of dryness. “But plenty enough time for me to make you drink your damn medgrade.”

Wheeljack groaned dramatically, helm falling back and shoulders slumping. “It’s’ _disgusting_!” he argued, still not releasing his hold on Ratchet’s waist. “I’ve been supplementing my rations with mineral goodies, it’s basically the same thing and tastes way better.”

“If it was basically the same, you wouldn’t still be sensitive.” Ratchet released the side of Wheeljack’s helm to poke at his partner’s damaged cheek. “I will _personally_ make sure you drink everything Remedy prescribed, even if I have to tie you to the berth to do it.”

“Kinky.” Wheeljack grinned, then winced, a hand leaving Ratchet’s back to hover over his injuries.

“No.” Ratchet shook his helm, taking Wheeljack’s chin gently in hand. “I just don’t want to wait a klik longer than a have to before kissing you properly again.”

“Hmm.” Wheeljack’s optics brightened a shade, lips curling in the devious smirk he wore when he’d just come up with something new and fantastical and usually prone to exploding at least thrice. “I promise I’ll drink my medgrade if you give me one of those nice half kisses after each one.” his optics fairly sparkled, affection and mirth flitting form his field to Ratchet’s, drawing a smile to Ratchet’s face as well. “Need a li’l something sweet to wash down all that ick.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Ratchet chuckled, kissing Wheeljack on the cheek.

“You love me for it.”

“I do.” Ratchet nodded, pressing all the affection he felt into his field. Wheeljack shivered and ducked his helm to hide his face in Ratchet’s neck. If Ratchet had to name one good thing to have come out of this blasted war, the fact that it had brought the two of them together would certainly be his answer. Even if they lost, that would give a meaning to their suffering.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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